I totally caught that snowflake on my tongue

Dear Old Man Winter,

  when did you officially start sucking?  I mean really?  At what stage in my life did I stop looking at you with fond wonderment and slight amazement and start looking at you like a blight on my life?  When was it that you started making my bones ache and my skin crack?

I look back on our time together as a child and I think of all the good times we had.  Remember that one time when you and I built that huge snow fort in front of the house?  It had tunnels and small windows for whipping snow balls at the enemy.  Man......we must've hung out in that thing for hours.  It had to have been hours 'cause I remember digging out a 'whiz hole' so we could take a leak out the side without ever breaking cover.  Nobody could find us in there....at least as long as they didn't track us back to that patch of yellow snow.

I remember snow days.  No, not just snow days but "You can't go outside because your eyeballs will literally freeze in their sockets" kind of snow day.  Those were the days that the car refused to start.  I can remember my Dad sitting behind the frosty wheel of the old Buick silently cursing you under his breath....the car sputtering and coughing; refusing to turn over.  I knew that if that old beast of a vehicle wouldn't come to life, then there was no chance I would be turned out into the cold to walk to school.  Thank you for that.

I remember snowball fights, and snow angels and finding the biggest snow bank I could possibly find and flipping off it head first into piles of soft, cushiony snow.  Growing up in the North, you really were a good friend.  After all, we really did spend a lot of time together.

But as I grew older, something changed between you and I.    While there were days that I enjoyed hanging out with you, I found that you started becoming more of an inconvenience and annoying more than anything else.  Like a dinner guest that just hasn't quite taken the hint that it's time to go....even as the host is standing there in their pyjamas looking longingly at the clock.



I'm totally kickin' your ass Winter!

 I think things really started to get awkward for us when you stopped helping me and started acting more as a hindrance.  Like that time you dropped 20+ centimetres on us and you brought along a huge dose of freezing rain for good measure?  Ya....pretty impressive.  Except you did this the day I had a major meeting at work and I was hours late for it.  Not cool dude.  In fact, that was pretty downright 'douchee'.

You see....I grew up.  You didn't.  My priorities shifted....yours didn't.  I guess to some extent I should've seen it coming.  I mean, over the years you've always been into the same things.  Every year it was all about cold and snow and sleet and freezing rain.  Sure you'd mix it up every now and then with a good ol' dose of frostbite.  But c'mon man.  Things got real boring real quick.  Our visits eventually always followed the same routine.
Me: "Hey Winter!  How have you been?  It's been about a year since we last talked."
You: "Hey dude!  Ya things have been awesome man!  You know.  Freezing people out.  Making cars slide into ditches....totally cool stuff."
Me: "Huh.  Isn't that what you did last time we talked?  And the year before that?"
You: "Well ya.  It's kind of my thing."

.............and so on and so forth for the rest of time........



Fat Kid + Momentum+ Slippery Hill=AWESOME!!!



Look, I'll admit that I still enjoy your company every now and then.  Summer's awesome to lounge around with and all.  But somedays, you just really need to jump on a crazy carpet and fly down a snowy hill at breakneck speeds.  Truth be told, I can't do that with the rest of your family.  So there's that I guess.

I hate the fact that you make me buy snow tires, and add more driving time to my commute and cause my gas bill to go up.  I hate that you freeze snot to my mustache and cause my lungs to burn when I walk outside in the morning.  It's not cool that you make me chisel my car out of a block of ice or break my back having to shovel tons of snow out of my driveway.

But I will admit that I still giggle like a little school girl when I catch that perfect snowflake on my tongue (I totally caught that snowflake on my tongue).  I still love the way my heart races when I jump on a toboggan and power slide down a huge hill.  And that bully inside of me still gets a kick when I land that perfect snowball across someone's face!  Especially when it's my kids.  Shhhh.....don't tell the wife.

Maybe we'll never get back what we once had.  I'm willing to accept that.  I willing to accept that we may need to change the rules of our relationship so that we're not at odds for the rest of my life.  I know I left your completely for 4 years.  California offered me an escape from you and your abusive tendencies but I came back.  I always come back.

Contrary to popular belief...I didn't have a gun to my head when choosing to leave this behind.

So let's do this right.  I don't like you anymore on a personal level but I respect you on a professional level.  My recommendation is as follows:

1. We will have contact with one another during the months of November through March.  Any correspondence outside of that range will result in cursing and swearing and shaking my fist at the sky.
2. You will give these dunder-head weathermen ample warning before you drop ass on us.  These guys seem to have trouble tying their own shoes most days let along predicting the weather.  They might as well "Consult the bones" rather than watching the Doppler radar.  It'd probably more accurate.
3. You'll keep your tantrums down to no more than 5 over the course of the season.  I don't mind an occasional flurry here or there....but 30+ centimetres and 6 feet of sleet and ice don't cut it anymore.

These are my terms.  You will accept them.   Only in doing so will you suck less and regain some of that wonder and amazement you lost when you refused to grow up along with me.  If our friendship meant anything to you.....you'll take those next steps to make amends.

I'm not crying....I'm sweating tears from my eyeballs.

Sincerely,

The Can-eh-dian Kid.

I'd like to introduce you to my new friend SARAH

I'd like to introduce you to my new friend SARAH.  She's going to be staying for a while.  She's moved on in to my house and now has her feet up on the coffee table as I write this.  It doesn't look like she's going anywhere anytime soon.  That's what she thinks.

Funny thing about SARAH is the longer she stays, the better the visit ends off.  But while she comes in raging like a bull in a China shop, she often leaves with hugs and kisses and a sense that all will be well.  But we're not at that part of the visit just yet.  My wife and I knew SARAH was planning on making an appearance sometime in the New Year.  In fact, we've been anticipating her visit for about 10 years now.  Her plans though really didn't solidify until about a year ago.  At that point, we started mentally getting ourselves ready for her stay.  But no matter how prepped we were, her arrival was still a kick to the gut.

  

Five days ago, my 10 year old son was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome; a mild form of autism.  In brief: 

Asperger syndrome is a form of autism, which is a lifelong disability that affects how a person makes sense of the world, processes information and relates to other people. Autism is often described as a 'spectrum disorder' because the condition affects people in many different ways and to varying degrees.

Asperger syndrome is mostly a 'hidden disability'. This means that you can't tell that someone has the condition from their outward appearance. People with the condition have difficulties in three main areas. They are:

• social communication
• social interaction
• social imagination.  (http://www.autism.org.uk/asperger)

While my wife and I had our suspicions; she much earlier than I, it was still a slap in the face when those words spilled out of the Psychologist's mouth.  "Your son has Asperger's Syndrome."  Somewhere in my mind an imaginary phone began ringing.

'That's SARAH calling.  She's finalized her travel plans and should be here later this afternoon.'

"Your son has Asperger's Syndrome."

'I'm not sure if we can handle having her visit.  There's too much to do.  She'll only get in the way of things!'

"Your son has Asperger's Syndrome."

Driving to work after the diagnosis was an odd experience.  My wife was on the phone with her Mom.  The radio was playing but I can't remember what was on.  I remember gliding through traffic and eventually showing up in the parking lot.  It was freezing outside that day and regardless of how hot the car heater was blowing, I felt cold....numb.  There weren't really any tears shed nor many words spoken in the car that day.  How do you react to something that you saw coming from 10 miles away?  Nope.  There'd be plenty of time for all of that once SARAH got here.

I finished work and was in the process of driving home with the family (they had picked me up after work) when SARAH showed up. I had stopped to pump gas when she tapped me on the shoulder to say Hi.  An overwhelming sense of sadness came flooding in; like a weight had been dropped into the pit of my stomach.  The first phase had begun.

I should clarify.  SARAH is not a person.  She is not even a She.  She is an it.  A concept.  An idea.  SARAH is what I use to classify the 5 stages people go through when dealing with a traumatic event or loss on some level.  Sadness, Anger, Rejection, Acceptance and Healing.  The time needed to move from phase to phase is as unique as the person who is going through the process.  Needless to say, SARAH has so far been able to manifest in her first two phases.  It really comes out of nowhere and there's nothing you can do but roll with it.

I've been waking up late at night (I'm not sleeping terribly well these last few nights) and ask myself....'What's next for our boy?' The long and short of it is that he will never be "cured" in the traditional sense.  There's no magic pill that makes it all go away.  At least that's what the experts say.  But I have hope.  Maybe that's SARAH making her presence known and showing me her "Rejection" side.  I denounce the possibility that there's no possibility for my son to wake up and snap out of it.  I think I'll probably always reject that idea on some level.

My wife and I are doing our best to begin to adapt our lifestyle, routines and household to this new and strange disorder.  While nothing drastic has changed, the diagnosis; the stigma around the word has us looking at the world through slightly different glasses than before.  We're taking steps to help him more with school, chores and social interaction in general, but it's an uphill battle.

Imagine a typical 10 year old boy; full of questions, mischief, humour and heart.  Think about how they thrive on social interaction; hanging with their buddies, playing sports.  Imagine them collapsing into bed exhausted at night to dream the night away after a hard day of playing.  Now imagine a child that has no 'off switch'; no ability to recharge because their mind never stops working….ever.  A child with all the hopes and ambitions as other typical 10 year olds but with an inability to read social cues; to understand why their behaviour and actions come across as odd or weird or disruptive.  An inability to make and maintain friendships.  There's no happy ending right now....only adapting and coping.

There's a whole community of Parents with Asperger children out there.  They affectionately refer to their children as "Aspies".  Cute.  But at this stage I find the name offensive and not much classier than calling someone a Retard.  They speak about the uniqueness of their child and how they will grow up to be Professors or Rocket Scientists or something else amazing.  But truth be told, not every child will be so lucky.  Some will never be able to live an independent life. 

We're extremely lucky that Evan will more than likely fall into the first category; able to utilize his amazing visual/memory talents for the greater good. This is a kid who at age 4 could memorize where all the objects were on a seek and find picture book.  With the proper social coaching and care he’ll not just be able to cope but thrive.  They say 1 in every 150 children in North American is affected by the Autism Spectrum Disorder.  Our boy just happens to be one of them.

My hope is that SARAH will eventually pack her stuff and move on to some other poor bastard family.  She's not really welcome here anymore.  In the meantime, we'll continue to learn and love as best as we can.

Unfortunately sir......

Unfortunately sir......


Hot.....so hot.

and with those two words, a red film of rage begins to cloud my vision.  My pulse quickens, my blood begins to boil, and the very synapses deep in the recesses of my twisted mind begin to rapidly fire.  Basically, I turn into The Hulk.  An overweight, out-of-shape, paying too much for car insurance Hulk.

  These words are used by faceless employees in large corporation to politely say "I couldn't give a flying fu$* about your problem sir, Jersey Shore starts in an hour and in my mind......I'm already fist pumping!!!!"

So why the anger you might ask?  What event happened to incur the written wrath of such a fine upstanding young gentlemen?  Well dear reader, allow me to elaborate.

In the spirit of the holidays, I will do my best to refrain from knocking the Company and the character of the employees that work there, and instead focus more on the use of the word 'Unfortunately'.  However, for posterity's sake, let's just say that the company in question rhymed with the word "DODGERS"

This may or may not be the company I am referring to. Perhaps it's just coincidence that their name rhymes.

 and I'm sure the people I was talking to over the phone looked a little like this.

Now that....is one handsome looking dude.

Regardless of that fact, the story goes as follows.  This company in question screwed up my bill.  They charged me $100 more than they should have and then expected me to pay the balance.  I threatened to cancel my service and escalated.  They renewed my contract with all the bells and whistles I had come to expect (which I verbally agreed to on a recorded call) and then they assured me that although I would have to pay the exorbitantly overpriced bill this month, they would credit me the next month.

Imagine my surprise when I receive my bill today only to find out that not only have they not applied the credits they owe me, but they now charged my $105 more than the actual bill.  In addition to this, they also told me that the contract I VERBALLY AGREED TO OVER THE PHONE 'CAUSE IT WAS LIKE.....PROMISED TO ME AND STUFF.....didn't actually exist.  They admitted fault but effectively told me I could go pound sand if I wasn't happy with their response.

Today, I wasted a total of 3 hours of my life on the phone with this company.  45 minutes of that was during my lunch break....and I likes to eat......and the remainder was done at dinner as I picked over my cold chicken fingers and hash browns.  And I love me some hash browns.  Needless to say I was not pleased.

After speaking with Agents that were the intellectual equivalent of toast, I was finally transferred to the 'Client Relations' department.  Client Relations?  Makes it sound like your trying to ass-bang me in the boardroom.  Why not call it for what it really is?  The "I must have done something really fu$%ed up in a previous life to deserve to listen to some jerk-wad complain about a $1.43 charge on his bill in this life" department.



After multiple escalations and more than a few nasty notes being added to my file, I finally got through to a "Manager".  At least that what this poor schlub was called.  For those of us that work in the industry, we know that this "Manager" just happens to be the unlucky bastard who drew the short straw on the night shift.  He has as much authority as my nutsack and...while commanding as it is.....there are limits to what it can do.

SO!!!  The real purpose of my rant was to talk about the term UNFORTUNATELY.  Throughout my 3 hour ordeal; which I should clarify eventually was resolved, the one common bond that drew this rag-tag team of misfits together, was their relentless use of the word Unfortunately.  They wielded that bastard like a shield each opportunity they got. 

"Can you solve this issue for me?
"Unfortunately sir....."   WHAM!!!  Shut down.

"Can we get this thing sorted out?!"

"Unfortunately sir....." 

SHUT DOWN!

"Can you PLEASE just do something to fix this?"
"Unfortunately sir........."

This is the band Wham for those of you born before 1990.

Everywhere I asked the answer was always prefaced by that miserable word.  To me, it ranks up there with the following:

• perhaps
• possibly
• maybe
• might
• sorry
• I can't
• We don't
• You shouldn't
• We're unable to
• etc
• etc
• etc

All words I despise as it takes the ownership out of resolving the problem.

Yes I am getting curmudgeonly in my old age.  Yes I like to pick fights with random strangers over the phone (since I'm not allowed to do it like they did in Fight Club anymore)

but I do it for HONOUR and VALOUR and to save myself $25.00 a month on my cable/internet and phone bill.  Don't judge.

Look, I get that these minimum wage an hour employees get just as screwed as the next guy when it comes to getting dicks like me calling in to complain.  But I can assure you that I go out of my way to be courteous to these folks and assure them that I understand that it's not their fault......until it is.  Use the term with me, you have just made me your enemy sir or ma'am.  I bite my thumb at thee and slap you across thy cheek with the finger of my white cotton glove.

In short, companies need to prep their people to be able have smart business conversations.  Not just throw up the policy shield everytime they don't know the answer to something.  You're not SPARTANS for CHRIST SAKE!  Nor are you Captain America or.....uhhhhhhh......uuummmmmm......some other dude that uses a shield!  Yah!

Happy Holidays everyone!

Took the wind right outta my sails....

The last few weeks have sufficiently managed to take the wind right outta my sails.  In shorter terms....I'm beat.  Physically, mentally, emotionally.  The last quarter of 2011 has been a real kick in the proverbial balls.  Having real balls, I can assure you, this is no less fun than an actual kick in the balls.  Let's start with illness and loss.  In the last 2 months I have either directly lost or know people who have lost people to an illness. 

I want to write a moment to talk about the loss of my dear Aunt Judy.  If there was one woman that I thought could grab Cancer (must remember to capitalize the 'C' as it is a Title referring to something of importance after all) by the throat and give it a dose of it's own medicine...it would've been her.  Growing up, I always knew that Judy had her finger on the pulse.  She was the "what's happening" Aunt.  The one that fought for social justice when she saw the lack of it.  The one who would be happy to sit quietly by while others' said their peace; but not out of apathy.  Rather, she was just biding her time.  Listening to all sides of the story before unleashing the 'fury' known as Her Opinion (again....capitalizing, but this time out of respect.)  Judy was never one to back down and she was also never one to put the cigarette down either.  Eventually, it caught up to her.  I'd rather not talk about her last few months on this mortal coil as many of us are still grieving and would rather remember her for her....and not for an illness.

As recent as yesterday, I friend of mine lost her husband of so many years.  The news as you can imagine, was met with heavy hearts.  Time and tide wait for no man.  Still, to see someone snatched away so quickly and watch the ripple effects it has on people around you, one might feel that it is truly the deceased that get off easy; no disrespect intended at all.  I only mean that the living are left to cope/manage/scrape by/move on.  A feat as big as a mountain and as vast as an ocean at times.  A task that one day I will undertake with the loss of my Parents, perhaps even my wife should fate choose take her before me.

"Took the wind right outta my sails"; such an interesting statement when one stops to think about its meaning.  It would imply that movement or progress has slowed or stopped.  That plans must now change and that courses must be corrected.  I suppose the comment is as relevant now to me as it was to the Sailors that first coined it.  I really have no idea if Sailors actually made that comment or not, but it sounds nautical, so let's go with it.  Note to the reader, I chose the word 'NAUTICAL' as 'SEAMAN-Y' just sounded so horribly wrong.

I suppose my momentum or forward movement has been slowing on the home front for a while now.  The Boy (my son) is not getting any better.  We're still waiting on word from CHEO as to when we can talk to a professional and find out what might be wrong.  In the interim, it is a daily uphill battle.  Emotional roller coaster sounds cliched, but it fits the bill.  I can't fairly describe the challenges my wife and I go through daily when dealing with the quirks and hiccups.  While we believe that it is Asperger's Syndrome, neither of us are Doctors (though we play that sometimes when frisky), so it's hard to peg just what's going on.  Until that time that luck happens to favour us and we're called up for assessment, we just have to keep our heads down, our patience in check and our glasses full of booze.  "We love you....but you drive Mommy and Daddy to drink.  Just thought we'd let you know." .....and the Parent of the Year award goes to......??!?!?!?!?

As for work......well.....I won't talk about work.  End of story.

Needless to say, I haven't been writing for a while.  I haven't been motivated to do so.  I've been seasonally apathetic.  My hopes, Loyal Reader...if you're still following along, is that when I do write, I add some form of entertainment to your day.  I write as a form of therapy.  It's cheaper than seeing a psychologist, has less side effects than taking medication and allows me to pretend for a few fleeting moments that I'm the next Stephen King.  That ain't happening...I know.  But seeing as how the Cops keep telling me that dressing up in a cape and tights and trying to rescue cats from trees does not make me Superman, Stephen King is a fair more manageable hero to emulate.

These last few weeks took the wind right outta my sails.  Maybe it's time to stop sailing and take the train.

laura kelly photography: trash the dress marathon

laura kelly photography: trash the dress marathon: Remember how it was practically Winter this past weekend? Perfect, just keep that in mind. There's something very special about being a br...

How the Hell am I still alive?

How the Hell am I still alive?

Seriously.  I look back at all the things I did as a kid (rope-tow on a BMX bike behind a high-speed moving vehicle, 30 foot death drops into huge sand pits, drinking water from the River,) and wonder how I ever grew up to be a reasonably decent looking guy (minus the beer keg gut) with all my fingers and toes.  I did some crazy shiz-nit as a boy.  More specifically, I'm surprised I didn't kill someone else around me.

Just one of my many stunts as a kid

Diving back into my brain-damaged archives (I took a few blows to the head as a kid), I thought I'd share a story from my youth that goes to prove the point that death will come for me one day seeing as I how I constantly and narrowly avoided it as a boy.  This is the second part of the letter for my Dad on his 64th birthday.

Backyard Ninja Wars

On a sunny afternoon, somewhere in the deep of a long forgotten summer a group of boys decided to pass the time by coming up with a new twist on the typical game of Cowboys and Indians.  Never content to simply run around the yard making Bang Bang noises while pointing our fingers at each other, we decided to take it to the next level.  Backyard Ninja Wars!

Grant and Graham Knight had the privilege of having a Dad who knew his way around a woodshop.  As such, they were prepared for this fight long before the rest of us.  Wooden Katana blades in hand, they rallied the troops (The Cornell Brothers-Travis, Aaron, Ryan and finally me) to take 15 minutes to prepare for battle.  This meant going home and getting our ‘weapons’ together.  Now, as mentioned, the Knight Brothers were ready to knock some skulls in.  The Cornells were also well armed having an arsenal of toys to choose from ranging from swords and shields to riot gear and sling shots.  And then there was me.

I was always more of an action-figure kind of guy myself.  He-Man, Thundercats, Star Wars.  The usual fare.  As such, access to weapons was a little scarce.  I remember clearly that you guys had a no guns policy.  In fact, at one point the policy was so strict, that I wasn’t allowed to even watch G.I. Joe on TV.  I had to sneak over to the Cornell’s house to watch it!  That plan worked really well…..until I got caught.

My Pets have Mad Skills

Back at the ‘ol Helmer Homestead’ I was desperately trying to piece something together before my time was up?  “Spatula? No.  2X4? Naaahhh. Dad?  What can I make for Ninja wars?”  I’ll give you credit.  You came up with a quick idea.  You drafted it up on a piece of paper, drew the specs right down and then sent me on my way to make it. My goal:  A Morning Star.  Death on a stick.  A solid metal spiked ball attached to a wooden handle by a foot long  metal chain.  Like I said.  Death on a stick.

Now, being a kid, I was curious and creative.  A dangerous combination in some cases…like this one.  I built that Morning Star.  Built it real good.  Using a spare piece of wood from the scary basement (the one with the furnace that would randomly go off and scare the Hell out of me when I was down there), some string, some tape (to hold it down) and a tinfoil ball with multiple nails driven through it.  Yep!  I was ready to go to war.

If it wasn’t for the fact that on my way out of the house I started that thing swinging and easily snapped it off the string; partially lodging it into the wall, I probably would’ve gotten out into the backyard and, plainly put….murdered someone.  But you were on your game that day and you stopped me cold in my tracks!  After explaining the potential repercussions of my actions, you said “Let’s see if we can make this a little safer.”

So with a pinch of ingenuity, a dash of madness and a liberal dose of “I’m not really sure what I’m doing but I’m not going to let the kid know that” you made me the eco-friendly version.  One stick?  Check.  One length of string?  Yes.  One potato and some tooth picks?  WHaaaaatttt?? “Now go play and try not to kill anyone!”

So off I marched into the heat of battle; spiked potato held high knowing that I was a Ninja Warrior.  Sure the other kids beat my ass (seriously, I got my ass handed to me) but I certainly had the most original, if not the most ridiculous weapon in the group.  All thanks to my Dad.

Paul Bunyan was a pushover

Recent, my Father celebrated his 64th birthday.  I've never been good for giving gifts; macaroni and glitter picture here, hand print ashtray there.  You get the point.  So to avoid another "Let's throw the gift in a closet and forget about it moment", I thought I'd write a letter to my Dad to share some of my favourite memories from my childhood that involved him.  Here now is the first tale:

Not Jeremy Landry but still bloody scary

'One day, while playing in our yard on Beavis Terrace, I had a run-in with the local bully; Jeremy Landry.  I‘ll always remember that kid!  Red Hair, freckles and an attitude similar to that of a Rhino with a toothache.  He was bad news!  On this particular day, the bullying was really bad.  I tried to get away, but Jeremy and his cronies followed me into our backyard.  I remember saying something to the effect of “You better leave me alone or I’ll go get my Dad and then you’ll be sorry!”

 Those buggers laughed!  Jeremy; through a mouthful of crooked teeth (man he was ugly as sin!) sneered at me and said “Oh Ya?!  Well, we’ll just climb up the tree here.  There’s no way your old man will be able to get us then!”

So I went inside….tears streaming down my chubby cheeks, my nose running.  I probably looked like a real mess.  I remember telling you what had happened and I remember you looking out the window and thinking quietly for a moment before leaving the room.   Well!  That’s when all Hell broke loose!  

The next thing I remember was you flying out the back screen door, down the porch steps and out into the yard.  The shock of seeing you come sprinting out was one thing.  Those kids weren’t totally prepared for that.  But the look of sheer terror on their face when you brought out THE AXE was an image I will gleefully cherish for the rest of my life!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! “Ready to come down now boys?” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!  “How about now?!”

Gravity is a wonderful thing.  In most cases, you rarely have to do any work besides sit back and watch things come tumbling down.  Case in point; the Boys in the Tree!  I’m not sure what happened to Jeremy Landry and his gang, but I often wonder about that old tree.  Whether it still bears the wounds of a neighbourhood war from long ago. 

Thor has his hammer.  Captain America has his shield.  My Dad, had The Axe."

Tights don't work for everyone